


in his arms

by etislem_18



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23667250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etislem_18/pseuds/etislem_18
Summary: "Her breath was slow and steady, and he watched her chest rise and fall with the attention of the hawk in his blood. Her golden hair – long, too long against the dirty and blood-stained jacket he hadn’t bothered to remove – shifted against his chest with the slight movements. He wanted nothing more, would fight the very gods that gave her to him, to take her away. Run into the deepest, wildest woods and protect her, keep her safe, take the burdens of the world from her shoulders."...Or, Rowan's reflections while Aelin sleeps in his arms.
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Rowan Whitethorn, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62





	in his arms

Rowan held his sleeping mate.

Her breath was slow and steady, and he watched her chest rise and fall with the attention of the hawk in his blood. Her golden hair – long, too long against the dirty and blood-stained jacket he hadn’t bothered to remove – shifted against his chest with the slight movements. He wanted nothing more, would fight the very gods that gave her to him, to take her away. Run into the deepest, wildest woods and protect her, keep her safe, take the burdens of the world from her shoulders. To save her from this fate.

He watched her, her narrow hips nestled between his powerful thighs, her soft, unmarred back against his hard stomach, her head lolling against his chest. His gaze fell to her neck, where his mark once sat, the proof his claim now erased by a monster’s cruel ministrations.

His arms tightened around her of their own accord. She shifted, settling back against him and nestling closer.

_Gods._ She was so small. She was so broken. She was so beautiful.

Her eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open. Aelin’s face was unlined and peaceful in her sleep, but he wondered if she dreamed of the past few months. If the nightmares that woke her, gasping for air and stifling screams, choking on fire that hadn’t otherwise appeared, plagued her now. He kept watching, vowing to himself that she would never again suffer like this, never again be lost to him.

He’d once promised to tear a hole in the veil to find her, to end worlds to keep her safe. He didn’t make vows he couldn’t keep.

One hand shifted to her hair, to gently stroke through it. Before this, when they would lay in bed, naked and pressed close to each other, panting and sated after making love, his fingers would softly comb through her long locks and she’d moan and purr like a cat, arching her neck to push her head closer to his hand, begging him to continue the tender, soothing touches. He’d laughed and stroked until his arm went numb. 

Outside the tent, he heard quiet footsteps, rousing him from the memory. He tensed, reaching for the knife at his hip until the soft female scent of his traveling companion washed over him.

A moment later, a dark head peeked through the tent flap and her eyes, drawn with worry, immediately fell on Aelin. Her face softened, relief and something like sorrow flashing on her face.

He was glad for Elide, knew that she would serve their queen well, but couldn’t muster enough grace or care to respond with more than a single, flat word.

“What.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his, and a flash of respect passed over him. Three months ago, the girl – like so many others – would have flinched back at the ice in his voice. Now, she met him stare for stare and her gaze hardened with determination as she looked at him.

Her arm appeared through the opening of the tent, and the rest of her body followed. She held a few pieces of bread, two apples, and some sort of meat speared on a stick, roasted by the rest of his companions at the small fire across the small glade where they’d camp for the night. His fellow warriors and this small, brave, strong girl in front of him tried to stay away from Rowan and Aelin, providing privacy where and when they could.

Elide crouched and set the meal on his bedroll. They would need to find a town in the next day or two to replenish their dwindling supplies.

“Eat, prince,” she said softly, unhooking the sling of water from her shoulder and setting it near his foot.

His mouth tightened. So did Elide’s. She drew a soft, deep breath.

“You haven’t eaten enough. Not in weeks.” She nudged the food toward him.

He nodded once, but made no move to take the food, only tightening his arms around Aelin, drawing her impossibly closer.

Elide’s gaze softened as she pushed the meal toward him again. “You can’t protect her if you don’t keep up your strength,” she murmured.

His nose flared and his mouth tightened, but he nodded again. A softening of his eyes and a third nod. Then a jerk of his head toward the tent flap just behind her. A silent dismissal, but grateful acquiescence.

Ire flashed in her eyes, then understanding and acceptance.

“Please eat,” she breathed, then backed out of the tent, joining the males he knew were huddled around the fire a dozen yards away. 

He knew she was right. He had only nourished his body enough to keep going, to keep endlessly searching for the female lying in his arms. Had pushed and pushed, never breaking, never stopping. He was weary now. Tired to his bones.

But eating could – and would – wait. He would starve before moving and disturbing her. During the last two days of hard travel over punishing terrain, pushing to outrun Maeve’s soldiers on the race to Terrasen, Aelin’s rest was so rarely uninterrupted, and though no physical wounds marred her body beyond the deep, ugly bruise on her ribs that had already healed, he saw the empty look in her eyes. The way she stared into the distance with no emotion on her face, no trace of the laughing, arrogant, intelligent, loving, _beautiful_ strength that fueled her spirit. He wondered when he would see a genuine smirk grace her lips, when she would tease him again. A desperate, frantic thought clawed its way into his mind: _Would she ever would truly recover from this?_

It didn’t matter. He had walked the long, hard road to healing with her before. He would do so again. And again. And again. And again. He was her mate, her _carranam_. The twin to her spirit. He would gladly cleave himself in two if it meant she would be whole again. They had a thousand years together, and perhaps even longer than that. Together, they would heal, bringing peace to the world and to their very souls.

He looked down at her again and savored Aelin’s weight in his arms, her scent. He ran his fingers through her hair and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Would she let him hold her like this when she woke? Would tomorrow be the day that she allowed him to truly touch her, to kiss her, to take her in his arms and worship her body? He ached for her. He hungered for her body and soul more than he had ever ached for sustenance or sleep or blood or another female’s touch. But not until she was ready. Until she came to him.

He sent another silent prayer to the gods – of thanks, of supplication, of longing. He looked at the food at his feet as his stomach cried out to be filled, truly filled, for the first time in weeks. His needs could wait.

Still, Rowan held his sleeping mate.


End file.
